


Broken Love

by silent_scythe_47



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-A Court of Wings and Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:39:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_scythe_47/pseuds/silent_scythe_47
Summary: In which Nesta says something to Cassian that she regrets.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron & Cassian, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Broken Love

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING - alcohol abuse, self hate, non-descriptive mentions of rape, slight sexual content

“What, do you think your mother even bothered to think about you while she was worked to death?” 

Nesta regretted it the moment those hateful words left her mouth. A part of her wanted to take back the venom she spat out, yet dignity trampled it down, keeping her spine straight and her head held high. She refused to acknowledge the pain that creeped upon her heart, instead curling her hands into fists as that maelstrom in her eyes swirled angrily. 

Her eyes were a force to behold; oh, such rage filled those cunning blue-gray eyes, like that of a wrathful thunderstorm. 

She watched, not a flicker of emotion showing, as the fire in Cassian’s eyes died out, reduced to ashes. 

She wanted, ached for him to spit back at her, to argue and quarrel. 

But she knew she went too far with that remark. 

And pride, insufferable pride, refused to let her apologize. 

༺༻

Cassian felt his breath still at the sneering insult she had flung back at him. They bickered endlessly, yet it was an unspoken rule between them to never bring relatives into it.

Never.

Especially when they were dead- have been dead for five hundred years. 

Thousands of retorts came to mind, an endless collection of insults he could hurl back, yet they all died on the tip of his tongue.

Cassian could feel nothing, hear nothing, as he closed the door quietly behind him and walked out of Nesta’s apartment in deafening, roaring silence, wings tucked in tight. He did not know where he was going, and he definitely was not in the mood to fly back to the House of Wind. So he let his steps carry him to the ends of the earth. 

And he couldn’t help but think back to what Nesta had said. 

_Do you think your mother even bothered to think about you while she was worked to death?_

Somewhere inside him, uncertainty crept along his bones. He knew that his mother cared for him, even as he was abandoned at an Illyrian camp with nothing but himself. But what if he was wrong? Five centuries later, his only recollection of his mother was a hazy, warm face. 

Oh, and the screams and body-wracking sobs that she had let out as he was taken away. 

His mother had left him with an amulet, a necklace of ruby the same brilliant carmine color as his seven siphons. He chose to give it to Nesta. Yet that was at the bottom of the Sidra, thrown in there after she refused to accept it, telling him that she wanted nothing from him and leaving. 

Oh, how he loathed himself. 

༺༻

Nesta stood there, fists clenching and unclenching, as she processed what just happened, replaying the events over and over again. 

She should have never said that. She had never hurt Cassian so deep before, so thoroughly that he had left, just left. Without firing some stinging retort back at her. 

And what killed her the most? He was a good male. In her heart, she knew that he was worth everything in the world. Gods, he had even closed the door _quietly_ , not slamming it like she would’ve undoubtedly done. 

She finally shook herself out of her stance, pacing around her messy, drab-gray apartment, dirty clothes flung everywhere, cobwebs on the corners of the walls.

And so, Nesta resorted to the only option at hand.

The only way she knew how to cope.

Oh, how she loathed herself. 

༺༻

Cassian’s steps eventually led him to the Sidra, his unkempt hair blowing in the harsh breeze. The biting cold chilled his fingertips, but he paid it no mind as he stared across the river, waves lapping gently at the sand that he stood on. 

From besides him, he could feel shadows wreath him, swirling around the secluded beach, twirling in the air. 

“Not now, Azriel,” he spoke, responding to the silent shadows. “I want to be alone.”  
The shadows seemed to stop, hesitating, as if saying, ‘ _are you sure, brother?_ ’ before eventually blowing away, returning to their master.

The Illyrian Commander stared out across the Sidra, his gaze unfocused, eyes on the horizon. Though he did not see the point where water met land. 

No, the only thing he could see were smoldering eyes of stormy blue. 

༺༻

Nesta cringed inwardly at the cheap alcohol that went down her throat, rough and burning. She took another massive gulp.

And she kept this up, until only the last dregs remained.

And then she asked for another drink.

And another.

And another.

She drank, and drank, and drank, welcoming the oblivion and the lack of emotion that accompanied this. Nesta kept at it, until her head was fuzzy and dizzy and she could not hear nor see a single thing clearly. Empty bottles lined the table she sat at.

 _You are worthless_ , a voice in her head hissed. _Worthless. You do not deserve him, you do not deserve Feyre and Elain’s kindness. You should continue to waste away, until you are completely gone._

Nesta wholeheartedly agreed with whatever spoke in her mind. 

She hated herself, hated her walls of thorns, hated that she was like a plague, spreading hatred and sadness to everyone around her. 

She wished she could change. 

And when she realized she couldn’t change, wouldn’t change, she wished she was gone. 

A male approached her, sitting down next to her. A cruel smile slashed across his face, displaying a handsome face with striking blue eyes and cropped, dirty blond hair. Pointed ears and sharp canines added to his features. 

_High Fae, then,_ Nesta thought. 

She could practically smell the lust and whiskey on the male.

She welcomed it. 

Nesta did not mind as a phantom hand of his grazed her leg, inching up to her thigh. She smirked at him, an invitation and a taunt. 

Soon enough, she grabbed his hand harshly, and they were in her bedroom within minutes. 

This was the only way she could find freedom, through sex and alcohol. Perhaps she indeed was wasting away, a useless pile of garbage. Once upon a time, she would bristle at such a comparison. Now, she could only agree. 

The male entered her, and an image of Tomas Mandray crossed her mind. The foreign touch, the mortal man who had torn her clothes to pieces and pinned her on the wall, until she had screamed her throat raw and clawed her way out of his grip. She still shuddered at the memory, but she shoved it down in her brain, all the way to the back of her mind, where all these other emotions and memories and feelings and happiness were, repressed and behind a gate that Nesta would never open. 

She rode him deep into the twilight, though she did not see the male Fae.

No, the only thing she could see were fiery eyes of warm hazel. 

༺༻

Cassian stayed by the riverbank until dusk, the rays of twilight sun warming him. Occasionally, he stretched his wings out, extending them and flapping once before he tucked them in tight again. Other than that, he stayed still, letting the waves lull him as he combed through memories and thoughts. 

They always seemed to rebel, to go to that one day he didn’t want to think of. The day where his wings were broken, shredded to pieces, wounds dotting his body like stars in the night sky as he laid on that battlefield, with Nesta covering him. 

_I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you again in the next world- and we will have that time, I promise._

Those words he had spoken echoed in his mind, and he remembered the way Nesta had shielded his body with her own. 

And right before that- as Nesta had shouted, roaring his name, as he had avoided that blast of magic that would have killed him within milliseconds. 

Did he deserve that?

Nightmares still plagued his mind during the night, where he watched as his soldiers, men he grew up with, died on the battlegrounds. 

Where they had lain their lives for the war. 

Where they died, and he didn’t. 

Guilt still ate at him, reprimanding and lashing at himself for surviving when he should have died, was supposed to die with those people. He had been grateful for Elain and Nesta, who killed Hybern, yet oftentimes he still went back to that day, wondering why he was still alive when he shouldn’t be.

Cassian’s slumbering siphons flared brightly as thoughts invaded his mind. 

He watched as the sun sank into the sky, the last rays of crimson and gold died with the sun, falling below the horizon. For a moment, the atmosphere turned the same, dark shade of vermillion as his siphons.

Gradually, the sky grew dark, as night fell and stars peeked out from behind their blanket of darkness. 

Cassian lowered his head. 

Purpose sang in his body, purpose to live. If he was granted with life, he would live it to the fullest. He would pull Nesta out of that dark, dark place, no matter how long it would take. No matter how much it would hurt himself, no matter how bleak some days might be. He made a promise to himself, vowing to never admit defeat and stop trying.

Because he loved her. Truly. 

And love, unending love, refused to let him give up.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that! Kudos and comments are deeply appreciated. This is my first time writing fanfiction on AO3, so I am still trying my best to figure out how this works. I appreciate any constructive criticism. 
> 
> I have read Crescent City and the Throne of Glass series and I am currently on chapter 23 of A Court of Thorns and Roses, I plan to finish that series this summer. ACoTaR (the series) was spoiled for me through both friends and myself, so I know most of Nessian's story, though not enough about other relationships to write about them. With that being said: 
> 
> Would you like to see more Nessian content? If so, please comment prompts below.
> 
> Thank you,  
> Scythe


End file.
